


Four Times Daegal Didn't Find Merlin and One Time He Did

by emptysuitofarmour



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Anxiety, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, It's angst but I'm also not taking myself seriously, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, Social Anxiety, except it's four, yes i am projecting what of it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:26:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27975126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptysuitofarmour/pseuds/emptysuitofarmour
Summary: Daegal had been alone for most of his life; a life dedicated solely to surviving until the end of each day.It was a difficult existence, but it was all he knew.Now, Daegal has to navigate the frighteningly unfamiliar world of Social Interaction, as he sets off on a wild goose chase after a warlock who's getting wrinklier by the second.
Relationships: Daegal & Gaius (Merlin), Daegal & Merlin (Merlin), Gaius & Merlin (Merlin)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Four Times Daegal Didn't Find Merlin and One Time He Did

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> \- Anxiety  
> \- Self Esteem Issues  
> \- Mentions of Men Being Physically Turned Into Women (It's just Merlin spontaneously turning into the Dolma, but I don't want to trigger dysphoria or anything)  
> \- Mentions of Alcohol 
> 
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated

Daegal watched silently as Merlin secured a fresh bandage around his waist, smoothing out the creases with skilled fingers. 

“There you are,” Merlin murmured, pulling down Daegal’s tunic. He smiled, satisfied. “You’re all wrapped up. Just let me grab you a pain relief solution, and I’ll let you go.”

As Merlin swerved through the teetering stacks of dog-eared books, overturned stools and chipped scientific equipment, Daegal’s eyes followed his progress, though his mind had begun to drift off elsewhere. 

Specifically, towards a subject that’d loomed at the back of his mind from almost the same minute he realised he wasn’t going to die; a worry that had then taken the limelight that morning when Merlin had told him he was well enough to get out of bed. 

_What’s going to happen to me now that I’m back on my feet?_

It’d been about a month since the assassination attempt by Sarrum’s men, and Daegal had spent most of that time sleeping away his recovery. He’d been confined to the straw mattress that’d been set up in the back room, squashed right next to Merlin’s bed (which he’d absolutely refused to take), so he hadn’t seen much more than those four walls in all the time he’d been in Camelot. 

Though - when he thought about it - he much preferred the monotony of the past few weeks to the chaotic instability of the life he’d lived before. 

He’d gotten used to the regular meals, the (proper, professional) medical care and the long, (mostly) restful nights (he couldn’t remember a time when his back had been so _unaching_ ), so he wasn’t looking forward to being thrown straight back into the wild... especially since Morgana was probably out there, mightily pissed off at him, and biding her time until she could liven up her decor with his severed and shrunken head. 

Daegal gingerly touched his neck as though to check it was still secure, and tuned back into Merlin’s nattering just in time to catch him saying “...and then we’ll head down to the feast. How’s that sound?”

He stared confusedly at the Warlock - or, rather, at the door of the cabinet that he was ducked behind - and asked “What feast?” 

Merlin’s head popped around the edge of the door, flashing Daegal a grin. 

“The feast that’s being organised in your honour,” he explained. “Arthur requested it.” He disappeared back behind the door, the tinkling of glass filling the air as Merlin sifted through the contents of the cabinet. 

“Where the hell... _why_ can I never find things when I look for - ah _hah!_ ” Merlin’s head reemerged, followed by the rest of his body, and he made his way back through the clutter, a familiar bottle of clear liquid held proudly aloft. “Arthur had a speech prepared and everything - well. I prepared it, but he’s the one who’s going to-” 

“ _Wait,_ ” Daegal blurted, cutting Merlin off - though he was reeling too much from the revelation that he was going to have _a Goddamn feast in his honour_ to concern himself with rudeness. Merlin started and blinked, clearly taken aback. 

Daegal swallowed. “Are there - um - going to be a lot of people?” he asked, voice coming a lot squeakier than he’d intended. He cleared his throat, trying to make himself sound gruffer. “At the feast, I mean?”

_Probably overcompensated a bit there._

Merlin’s brows furrowed. 

“Well… yes,” he said slowly, “the knights, obviously - as well as a few nobles, council members and servants…” Daegal’s expression must’ve betrayed his panic, because Merlin rushed to add “I’ll be there too, though,” in an obvious attempt to reassure him (it did not work). “I’ll be standing right behind you, because you’ll be seated next to Arthur as the guest of honour.” He finished with a double-thumbs up for good measure (again, it did not work).

Daegal suddenly found it very hard to breathe. 

_Oh. Oh God. That’s a lot of people. I’m going to be sitting in front of_ all those people _-_

“Does there have to be such a fanfare?” he wheezed pleadingly, “I mean - not that I’m - I’m grateful that you’ve planned such a nice send-off, but-”

“Wait, send-off?” Merlin frowned, apparently confused. “You think we’re sending you off?” Daegal stared back, equally lost. 

“...Yes?”

Merlin’s lips quirked upward in amusement. 

“If you want to go, you’re welcome to,” he snorted, shaking his head slowly, “But the feast isn’t a send-off so much as it’s a proper welcome into Camelot.” 

Daegal’s mouth hung open.

_They… want me to stay in Camelot?_

As the news washed over him, tightness in his chest began to loosen, a small, unfamiliar feeling of warmth blooming in its place - though it was snuffed out just as quickly, as another worry took over.

_They’re going to regret inviting me by the end of the night._

“Thanks,” he said, “but - I’d rather not.” 

Tilting his head to one side, Merlin peered at him as though trying to piece together a particularly complicated puzzle. After some deliberation - and a long period of Daegal growing increasingly self-conscious - his eyes flashed gold. A few feet away, an upturned stool hopped to its feet, standing to attention, and began a waddling march across the floor, coming to a halt just behind Merlin’s legs. Merlin gave it an approving nod and plopped himself down, directing his attention back to Daegal. 

“What’s the matter, then?” he coaxed, shuffling a bit on his bottom to get comfy. “The knights are really friendly.” He paused. “Don’t tell them I said that, though. If they ask, I told you they were cocky arseholes.” 

Daegal smiled slightly, but it fell soon after. He scratched at his elbow, focussing on picking lint bobbles off his sleeve to avoid meeting Merlin’s eyes.

“It’s just that I’m - uh.” He coughed awkwardly. “I’m not all that… you know. Interesting.”

A pause. 

“I’m sure you’re being hard on yourself.”

_I’m really not._

An uncomfortable silence rose between them as he tried to decide on the least pathetic way of getting across how socially inept he was. 

Because Daegal - no exaggeration - was terrible at talking to people. 

He was good at lying, sure. He could evade and haggle and dodge questions like a professional con artist (which was, he supposed, exactly what he was). But actual, human conversation? 

Put bluntly, he was shite at it. 

In fairness, he hadn’t had much experience; when he was young, the only person he’d ever talked to was his mother... and then she’d died. He would’ve stayed with the druid community she’d hailed from - she’d given him the whereabouts, after all (whispered frantically in his ear before she’d been ripped away from him by Uther’s men) - but, well. 

The corpses he’d eventually tracked down didn’t seem to be welcoming lodgers. 

This meant that in the years since his mother’s death, he’d been alone. He’d barely talked to anyone in… roughly two decades (he wasn’t sure). There were times he’d make shady deals with strangers, ask to hitch rides with smugglers... a few occasions where he’d had insults hurled his way by the people who noticed him making off with their purses... but he’d never opened up before (not before Merlin, anyway). 

All in all, he wasn’t much of a conversationalist. 

“It’s alright with just you,” he explained in a mumble, “I’m just not - I don’t think I can handle uh… big groups.” 

He waited for the scorn. It was to his absolute shock that it didn’t come.

Subverting everything Daegal knew about humanity, Merlin only softened at the confession, smiling lightly. 

“Alright,” he relented, reaching out a hand to ruffle Daegal’s hair. “I won’t force you.” 

Daegal, though stumped, felt his shoulders relax, and he pulled his lips into a weak semblance of a smile. 

“Thank you,” he said, then added a sheepish “Sorry, though.” 

Merlin breezily waved him off. 

“Nah, don’t worry about it. No one’ll mind a change of plans.” 

It was at that moment that their conversation was interrupted by a loud _squeak_ from the other side of the room. The two boys turned to the door just as Gaius hobbled through, wispy white curtains of hair swinging back and forth with each laborious step. 

He was muttering under his breath as he made his way into the room, but abruptly cut himself off with a jolt when he clapped eyes on Merlin. 

“What are you still doing here?” he snapped, arching a silvery brow, “Do you realise what time it is? You should be at work! Go on, shoo! _Shoo!_ ” 

He doddered through the bedlam of his chambers, clapping his hands sharply to stir Merlin into action. Merlin jumped to his feet as though burned. “One day Arthur will lose it with you, and you’ll end up on the chopping block for tardiness, never mind sorcery!”

Daegal glanced at the door - which, concerningly, was hanging wide open. 

_How the hell have these two not been caught out yet?_

Merlin threw a sulky “Is it impossible for you people to let me catch a break?” back at the Physician, shoved the pain relief into Daegal’s hand, and in a flash, vaulted over the experimentation table and darted towards the door. “Drink up, Daegal!” he hollered over his shoulder, slipping out into the hallway with a jaunty wave, before the door slammed shut.

“ _You haven’t even had your breakfa-_ Good God, that boy is a disaster.” 

Gaius grumbled to himself, shuffling over to their little dining table where Merlin’s bowl of gruel sat untouched. Beside it stood a crystal vial of pale, yellow liquid. Gaius picked up the vial with a disapproving tut. “He’s going to regret not taking this,” he muttered. Tucking it into the pocket of his robes, he began squeezing through the stacks of tomes towards the stool where Daegal sat. His thin, wrinkled lips curled up into a friendly smile as he approached. “Are you excited for the feast tonight?” he asked kindly. 

Daegal winced. He hunched his shoulders, fiddling with the end of his sleeve. 

“Merlin says we can cancel.” 

Gaius’s brows furrowed. It looked startlingly similar to the way Merlin’s had only a few moments before. 

“Why ever would you want him to do that?” 

Daegal chewed his lip, pondering for the second time that day how to come across less pathetic than he was while still being truthful. Although, he mused, the physician had surely seen and heard many an embarrassing admittance in his line of work, and Daegal’s social anxiety was probably quite far down on the list. He huffed a tiny, inaudible breath. 

“I’m not good with talking to people,” he finally answered. 

_Understatement._

“I’m sure you’re being hard on yourself.”

_They... really are like father and son, aren’t they?_

“I’m really not,” he assured the old man, intent on making him understand, “I’d have nothing to say to anyone. The knights?” He deflated. “How do I talk to people who are so… brave? And interesting? They have stories to tell.” He shrugged, with a tiny, self-deprecating smile. “I don’t.” 

Gaius’ right brow crawled up his forehead, much like a white cat stretching after being rudely woken from a nap. For a long while, he stared at Daegal without a word. 

“You know, my boy,” he said finally, lowering himself arduously into the stool that Merlin had vacated, cracks of his joints causing Daegal to wince in sympathy. “For twenty-five years I stood by and did nothing as King Uther murdered innocents. Many of them I’d known for years; called them my friends, even.”

Daegal didn’t understand why Gaius was suddenly bringing up the Purge. Was the man rubbing it in that he had a riveting backstory? Or that he’d had friends? 

Daegal had never had friends before - except maybe Merlin, but Merlin hadn’t ever explicitly used the word ‘friend’ so Daegal didn’t want to assume - but he thought that if he ever did make one, he’d rather die than let that friend be caught by someone like the old King Uther (friend or not, he’d happily do so for Merlin). 

Still, he didn’t want to interrupt the man to question the change in topic, so he kept his mouth shut. 

Gaius pinned him with a look that Daegal couldn’t interpret, though it looked… happy? 

“You’d known Merlin for less than a day,” Gaius continued, “and yet you went against Morgana to save his life.”

Exactly Daegal’s point. 

“Yes,” he said, “but - obviously. He was really nice to me. He didn’t deserve to die.” 

Gaius shook his head, now clearly smiling. 

“No, Daegal. What I’m saying is, you _defied_ a Pendragon in order to do what you thought was right. That’s something I never had the courage to do in all the time I’d known Uther.” There was a twinkle in his eye as he spoke. “I’d call that brave and interesting.” 

Daegal stared at him, stunned. 

_I’ve… never thought of it that way._

He felt his cheeks begin to heat, and he looked down at his lap. Then he raised his eyes back up to Gaius’, embarrassed, but… strangely pleased. He gave Gaius a grateful smile, and Gaius returned it with a wink.

Then, Gaius clapped his hands to his knees and pushed himself from the stool, groaning slightly as his joints cracked again. 

“Right,” he huffed, “I’m going to have to ask you for a favour.” Daegal agreed without a second thought. 

Gaius pulled out the vial he’d picked from the table, holding it out for Daegal to take. “I need you to get this to Merlin,” he said. Daegal took it, staring curiously at the liquid within. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

Gaius clucked disapprovingly, though when Daegal looked up, contrite, he saw that the man was still smiling. 

“I wouldn’t usually tell you - patient confidentiality and all - but seeing as you’ll be my next apprentice-”

“I’ll be your _what?_ ” 

Gaius grumbled something about _not interrupting before he was finished speaking_ , and his eyebrow resumed it’s favourite perch halfway up his forehead. 

“What did you _think_ you’d be doing here?” he asked, as though being accepted as a King’s Court Physician’s apprentice with no prior training was an obvious conclusion for Daegal to jump to. “Merlin tells me you performed well in the forest-”

_All I did was what Merlin had me do!_

“-and you already live here-”

_Since when do I live anywhere?_

“-so you’ll be learning under myself and him in order to hone your skills.” 

Daegal couldn’t think of anything to say. He gaped at the old man, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. Gaius rolled his eyes and grumbled.

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, shut your mouth before I stick a leech to your uvula.” 

Daegal shut his mouth.

“As I was _saying_ ,” Gaius said curtly, “it is _vital_ that you get that tincture to Merlin. You remember how he broke the enchantment over the Queen?”

Daegal nodded.

“Well,” Gaius went on, “the spell Merlin used to turn into the Dolma was imperfect. It was only meant to imitate the appearance of an old woman and it - ehm - went a bit farther. The tincture helps to suppress the lingering side effects.” 

Daegal peered at Gaius searchingly.

“What side effects?”

"Oh, you know. Just undergoing the entire natural process of ageing, except accelerated to happen in a matter of hours." He waved his hand about matter-of-factly. "So, instead of - say - memory deteriorating over time, picture being walloped about the head and waking up with no clue who you are, but _then_ picture you've woken up with aching joints, lousy eyesight the most powerful magic on Earth bubbling beneath your shrivelled skin. In Camelot."

Daegal blinked. 

“Oh.”

Gaius peered at him from under knitted brows.

“”Oh” indeed. So, you understand the urgency. If he doesn’t receive that tincture, he could find himself in a bit of an - ah - _awkward_ situation _._ ” 

An image of a batty old woman in a neckerchief being hauled away by Camelot’s guards entered his mind. 

_I imagine being beheaded would be a bit more than “awkward”._

“...Right.” Daegal stood stiffly, hissing as pins and needles shot up his legs. “Where do I find him?”

“You can probably still catch him at the kitchens. He’ll have headed down there to fetch Arthur’s breakfast.” 

Daegal gave a determined nod. 

“I won’t let you down.”

**Author's Note:**

> (...so I may or may not have been projecting onto Daegal) 
> 
> This is a letter to people who feel like they "don't matter": who feel unwelcome in spaces they've been invited into; who look back on every interaction and regret opening their mouths at all; who wonder why others would ever want them around because they're not "interesting" enough. 
> 
> I see you, and you matter a whole hell of a lot.


End file.
